


For Want of a ZPM

by scrollgirl



Series: Brightest Heaven [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Breathplay, Collars, Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrollgirl/pseuds/scrollgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obeying kinky off-world customs to secure a ZPM for Atlantis is mostly an excuse so John and Jeannie can finally resolve the sexual tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of a ZPM

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) amnesty. Set in Season 1, any time after [Flights of Stairs](http://scrollgirl.dreamwidth.org/655564.html).

John has no idea how he's going to explain this in his mission report. "Are you sure you don't want Teyla doing this?" he asks a third time, trying his best to ignore the leather slave collar Jeannie is holding out to him. He looks around the Ancient ruin, seeing nothing but trees, crumbling walls, and yet more trees, and desperately wishes they were back in the village--or better yet, back on Atlantis, where Elizabeth can yell at him for getting himself into this mess. That is, if there's anything left of him after Ford frags him. Oh, hey-- "Or, hey, what about Ford? Ford could do it."

"Major, please, there might be a ZPM," says Jeannie, a little desperately, her cheeks red with embarrassment. "If we don't follow the rules every step of the way, they're not going to let us keep it."

There are no good arguments against possibly finding a ZPM, so John grits his teeth and takes the collar from her. The dark brown leather is smooth and supple under the sensitive pads of his fingers as he feels for the hidden clasp. "Nice," he says when it clicks open, admiring the quality work. It's better made than anything he ever had back on Earth. Maybe the Oredaas will let him keep it when this is all over.

Jeannie inches closer, her eyes gone huge and dark, her breathing quick and shallow. John's gaze flickers down to her chest, heaving with every nervous inhalation. It's not fear, he realises--it's excitement. Arousal. Wholesome, homespun Jeannie McKay is _intrigued_ by the idea of being collared and leashed by her team leader.

"Jeannie," he says, and waits for her to look at him. "Red means stop. Yellow means slow down. Green means keep going. Do you understand?" She swallows hard at his words, then nods. "You will answer 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir' when I ask you a question. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," says Jeannie, almost too faintly to be heard, and her body sways toward John, as though drawn to a magnet.

John catches her shoulders, wondering if he's going too fast. They don't exactly have a lot of time, though, before the next scheduled check-in, so he moves things along. "The rules say you have to take off your shirt and bra." The Oreda customs for holy ground, which is where the hypothetical ZPM is located, requires that slaves be naked and collared. Teyla managed to negotiate an agreement with the abbess that would at least allow Jeannie to keep her pants on.

If it's at all possible, Jeannie turns even redder than before, gaze shifting awkwardly to the side. "Yes, sir. I'll just--" Slowly, reluctantly, she unzips her jacket and lays it on top of her backpack, then, eyeing John nervously, she pulls the blue t-shirt up and over her head. The blush extends down her neck to the tops of her breasts, almost blending with the pale pink cotton of her bra.

"Um, wow," says John, his own face growing warm as he stares down at her. "You're beautiful." There's a small voice in the back of his head yelling at him to have some decency, already, and stop ogling his teammate, but he can't help admiring the sweet curve of her breasts or her nipples stiff and peaked in her bra. She's smaller than Teyla despite being wider in the hips, but gorgeous in her own way. He captures her wrists when she tries to cover herself. "If we're going to do this," he says, looking her straight in the eye, "you're gonna have to trust me. So when I tell you that I think you're beautiful, you have to trust that I mean it. If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't say it. Okay?"

Licking her lips, Jeannie stalls for time but finally says, "Yes, sir." Then, "Would you like to take off my bra, sir?" Her shoulders come up, instinctively defensive, but John tucks the collar into his pocket for safekeeping and reaches around her back to unhook the bra. She doesn't flinch as he draws the straps down her arms until it drops on the ground, and John gives her a tiny smile. Then, he cups her breasts in his hands and squeezes gently.

Jeannie gasps, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she pushes his hands away. "The, the collar," she stutters, backing away. "Put it, you have to put it on me, Major--sir. Sir."

"Yeah, okay," John rasps, and pushes the heel of his hand against his aching cock. There's still time to stop this, but he honestly could not give a damn about rules and regulations when they've been dancing around this for weeks now. It can't end well, not when Jeannie knows he and Teyla have a thing, and he knows Jeannie and Bates have a thing, but none of that seems important when she's about two seconds away from jumping him.

He takes a deep breath and remembers the role he's supposed to be playing. "Turn around," he commands. "Lift your hair up so I can put on the collar." He pulls out the length of leather and waits until her back is to him, heavy curls twisted into a knot at the top of her head with both hands. "Good girl," he murmurs, and kisses her bared shoulders, the nape of her neck. He can smell her shampoo and her sweat. Bringing the collar up to her mouth, he tells her to kiss it. She obeys, damp lips brushing his fingers.

It takes every bit of concentration for John to fasten the collar, though it snicks into place with barely any effort once he gets the ends to meet up. "Not too tight?" He wraps his hand around her throat to feel it working as she swallows. There's no give to the leather, but it should be fine.

"No, sir," Jeannie answers, her voice hoarse. "Please, sir, John--" Her body's trembling slightly, little shudders as he strokes his thumb over the collar and down her neck to the dip of her clavicle. "Don't tease, okay? Please?"

He makes her wait a few seconds longer as he quickly strips off his tac vest and t-shirt, then grabs her waist to spin her around. "No teasing," he promises, and claims her mouth in for a fierce, uncompromising kiss. Her lips part with a moan, her tongue searching for his, and it's hot and wet and so good. He runs one hand up her ribs, curving over her breasts and up her neck until he can feel the leather collar, then works the tip of his index finger under the collar. Her breath catches in her throat, and John feels his dick spurt pre-come in his pants.

"You like it rough?" he asks, biting at her lips. He tugs at the collar, and Jeannie chokes another breath, her hands suddenly clawing at his belt. John uses his free hand to help her undo his fly. "I knew it, knew you'd like this, Jeannie. I knew you'd be a good girl once I got a collar on you."

"God, John--sir," she begs, "_sir_," and then they both groan when she finally gets him free, her small hands stroking him, her grip too gentle for what he needed. "Fuck me, John. Sir, sir, fuck me, _please_."

Swearing, "Fuck, Jeannie, Jeannie," he shoves her down to the ground, yanking her belt off and tearing her pants open. "I was gonna make you suck me off," he tells her, voice shot to hell, "but we'll have to save that for another time." He gets her pants down around her ankles, boots too much work, and spreads her wet thighs as wide as they can go. "_Fuck_," he groans, and pushes in with one strong thrust. She's slick and velvet inside, gripping him tight, wringing him. He could come just from the way she's squeezing him.

Jeannie grabs his chin to drag him back to her mouth, and they kiss, messy and desperate. "John, _please_." He promised he wouldn't tease, and so he doesn't. He wraps one hand around a hip to keep her steady, the other hand on the collar, for control or the threat of it, and starts moving, fucking her hard, unrelenting thrusts that drive what little breath she has out of her lungs. "Uhn, uhn," she gasps, tiny whimpering sounds.

Groaning, feeling his rhythm faltering, John takes his hand from her hip and reaches between them to work her clit. He circles it, fingers slipping in her juices, then pinches it gently until she's keening and arching under him, her entire body shuddering from climax. Before she's finished coming down, John shoves her thighs wider and gives into instinct, rutting into her with low animal grunts, feeling her walls rippling until, there, there, _now_, he comes with a shout, Jeannie milking him until he's empty and twitching.

They lie in the dirt, heaving for air, sweat and other fluids drying on their clammy skin. Jeannie is the one who finally breaks the silence. "It wasn't because of the ZPM," she says, quietly, a thread of tension running through her body despite recently having been fucked into the ground. "What I mean is, I didn't-- this-- it wasn't really for the ZPM."

"I know," says John, pressing his lips to her damp forehead. "Me neither."

Jeannie reaches up to finger the collar. "We never got around to adding the leash." Out of the corner of his eye, John watches her brow furrow and lips move silently as she ponders this for a minute or two. Genius at work. "Maybe we can try? With the leash? When we're back in Atlantis, I mean."

Snorting, John shuts his eyes and contemplates a nap right here in the middle of the Oreda forest. "Whatever you want, McKay."


End file.
